


Burning Down The House

by Teragram



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-19
Updated: 2018-02-19
Packaged: 2019-03-21 10:28:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13738914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Teragram/pseuds/Teragram
Summary: All Captain Dean Winchester has to do is live up to his father’s legacy as a firefighter, protect his brother from an evil ex-wife, and solve his mother’s murder. Castiel Novak investigates arsons for the New York Fire Department and wonders why Dean seems so tired. Dean wonders why the NYFD’s smartest man had to be so pretty.





	1. Chapter 1

Zachariah Adler grinned out his window at the Manhattan streets. He was settling nicely into his role as Acting Division Chief, he’d just eaten an excellent pastrami sandwich, and he was about to humiliate Dean Winchester. Days like this were to be savored.

Zachariah looked at the clock. The package he’d sent to Winchester would have arrived twenty minutes ago. The man had no impulse control, so he’d charge up here to make a scene any minute now. Zachariah straightened his tie and pulled a mirror from his desk to check his teeth for deli meat.

Winchester stormed in as he returned the mirror to its drawer. Right on time.

“You wanna explain this?” Winchester slammed a handful of yellow polyester onto the desk.

“I believe _that_ is a reflector vest that complies with the New National Standards.” Zachariah smiled, pleased with himself. This was off to a great start.

“You mean it’s the cheapest one on the market!”

“I don’t see a problem, _Captain_ Winchester.”

Zachariah has been Acting Division Chief for six months now, since John Winchester’s death left the spot vacant. And now Dean Winchester, next in a long line of glory hogs, was making waves in the department. If Zachariah didn’t quash him now he’d be competing with him for promotions soon.

“Let me explain something to you.” Winchester leaned across the desk, trying to look intimidating. “Having the vests only meets half our objective. Guys have to _want_ to wear them. My guys need to look like firefighters, not…construction workers.” He fisted the vest. “And this cheapest crap says you don’t value us or what we do.”

“I have to think big picture, Dean.”

“Screw the big picture! Gimme me something worth wearing and I’ll see my men wear them. We need high-quality vests with our department name on the back.”

“I’ll consider it.”

He wouldn’t. Zachariah didn’t care about the vests, but he enjoyed seeing Dean huff and puff over them. The decision was above Winchester’s pay grade, but he’d stormed in like a man on a mission from God. Zachariah got ready to deliver his knockout blow.

He snapped his fingers. “While you’re here, I should bring you up to speed on a little project. Call it interoffice cooperation.”

Winchester looked suspicious. “Cooperating with who?”

“Cooperating with _whom_ ,” Zachariah corrected. “I’m attaching you as a special assistant to Fire Marshal Novak in Arson.”

“Arson?” Dean squinted angrily. “Isn’t he that guy with the weird…brain thing?” He gestured vaguely with his hand.

He nodded. “Photographic memory or whatever they’re calling it now. You start Friday night.”

“Sam’s engagement party’s Friday night.”

He felt joy as Dean staggered under the blow.

“What a shame.” Zachariah leaned back in his chair. “You’ll have to attend the party for his _next_ engagement. They always say third time’s the charm.”

“I’m scheduled to be off on Friday. I just worked two—”

“Roll with it, Winchester,” Zachariah cut him off. He knew he was in for an annoying phone call from the union but didn’t let it dilute the thrill of victory.

Dean did the only thing left. He got belligerent. “I see what you’re doing.”

“Grow up, Dean. You can’t blow off work to party with your brother. I made a lot of sacrifices to be Division Chief, and if you think—”

“ _Acting_ Division Chief,” Dean interrupted.

“Fine. Acting Division Chief. My appointment will be confirmed once Michael gets back next week.”

Zachariah savored the discomfort on Dean’s face. It must kill the brat to see his success. Not everybody got their rank handed to them by their daddy. “In the meantime, enjoy the Arson squad.”

* * *

 

Castiel had been summoned to the office of Acting Division Chief Adler where he learned that the hierarchy had conspired to attach a dead weight to his office in the form of Captain Dean Winchester.

“Winchester’s our most recent appointment to Captain,” Adler explained.” So it makes sense he get the assignment. For the experience.” He pulled a bottle of whiskey from a drawer of his desk and waggled it at Castiel. “You don’t mind, do you?” He poured before getting an answer.

“Tell me about Captain Winchester.”

Adler sipped his drink. “Name’s Dean. He’s one of _The_ Winchesters. The other one is Sam, who’s high up in the union. Got a law degree through night school. You could count their half brother, Adam, too, I suppose.” Adler made a face. “He’s EMS.”

Castiel knew some people ignored the Emergency Medical Services, but he wasn’t one of them. He had acquaintances there. Not friends. He didn’t really make friends.

Adler continued. “They think they’re royalty cause their old man got a few commendations.”

“John Winchester was twice the recipient of the Commissioner Martin Scott Medal, awarded for distinguished service and unusual initiative, resourcefulness and capability leading to an arson arrest.”

“A showboating glory hog,” Adler opined. “Fixated on a case he couldn’t solve.”

Castiel remembered the file, photos, and sketch artist’s drawing. A series of arsons in the early 1980s that had killed one and injured nine. Witnesses saw a man with yellow eyes flee two of the scenes, but a suspect was never found. Winchester had cooperated with the Fire Marshal’s office on the investigation. It was before Castiel’s time, but he had read the reports.

“The man with the yellow eyes.”

“Exactly! Killed Winchester’s wife, Mary.” Adler looked as if John Winchester had become a widower simply to irritate him.

“He was dedicated.” Castiel remembered the signatures on the evidence reports. Winchester had run down two thirds of new leads on the case.

“He was obsessed. There’s a difference.” Adler leaned forward. There was a conspiratorial air to the motion that Castiel didn’t like it. Adler smirked. “I’ll say this for him though, Winchester could work for days on nothing but booze and cigarettes. If he could see how lazy Dean turned out, he’d be spinning in his grave!”

“My thanks for sending me such an idle employee.”

“You’ll whip him into shape. He starts Friday.” Adler smiled at some private joke.

“I’ll need him by 18:00,” Castiel said. “I have evidence from a warehouse fire to process and if we aren’t started by 18:00 we’ll have to break for the night before the chemicals have—”

“18:00.” Adler scribbled on a long yellow pad. “Look, I’m writing it. I’m writing it.”

“I look forward to meeting Captain Winchester.”

Adler pointed at him. ”Just don’t let him seduce you. Half the department can’t stop staring at his ass.”

Castiel rolled his eyes. “I’ll try to restrain myself.” He might like men but he never leered at colleagues, and men who coasted on the reputation of their fathers didn’t impress him one iota.

* * *

 

Dean’s shift was into its twenty-third hour when his phone beeped. It was Adler, reminding him that Fire Marshal Novak expected him at his office at 18:00 on Friday. Dean growled and threw his head back. His brother’s engagement party would barely have started by then. The kid only had so many milestones in his life, and this was the first without their dad there. Dean hated leaving Sammy in the lurch. Adler was a bastard.

Sam peered up from the couch, where he was reading the _New York Review of Books_. Whenever Dean finished back-to-back tours Sam drove him home. Dean insisted he was fine to drive himself, but Sam rattled off statistics about how tired drivers cause accidents. He wasn’t wrong.

“Problem?” Sam looked worried. The way he’d been checking in on Dean since their father died you’d think he was the big brother in more than size.

“ _Adler_.” Dean spit his name. “He’s attached me to Arson for the foreseeable. I work night tour tomorrow.”

“He can’t do that,” Sam set the magazine down. “You’ve already worked two 9x6s, you’re supposed to have 48 hours off. You should file a grievance.”

“Let it go, Sammy,” Dean said. “I don’t wanna make a big deal of it.” Adler was punishing him with this assignment, and the best thing Dean could do was take it like a man.

“He’s singling you out because of Dad. You know he is.”

“Maybe. What do you want me to do about it?”

“Like I said, file a grievance. If not for you, then to keep him from doing this to someone else.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Well, if you don’t show up on Friday, Jess is gonna take it out on me.”

Dean enjoyed seeing how happy Sam was with Jess. His brother’s ex-wife, Ruby, had been a total psycho who’d tried to get him hooked on drugs and then ditched him for an old flame, breaking Sam’s heart, draining his savings account, and making a serious dent in his credit history. It had taken forever to get Sam untangled from her. Dean thanked his brother’s lucky stars that New York was a no-fault divorce state. Ruby would have fought them tooth and nail. By the time the papers went through Sam was already falling for Jessica Moore, a woman he’d met at Columbia Law School. Jess was the asskicking girl with a heart of gold that Sam needed.

“I’ll be there as long as I can,” Dean assured him. “But keep Bella away from me.”

“Let me guess, your date crashed and burned?”

“You could say that,” Dean scoffed. “She turned her nose up at the restaurant and talked down to me all evening. Oh, and she topped it off by suggesting we have hate-sex. So there’s that.”

“Hatesex? Is that even a thing?”

“Apparently. Doesn’t exactly scream ‘long-term relationship material,’ does it?”

“Okay,” Sam said, “but you should meet Lisa. She’s a friendly, down-to-earth, single mom.” He paused. “Yoga instructor.”

“Yeah?” Dean grinned.

“Yeah. Jess got me into doing hot yoga three times a week to get in shape for the wedding.” Sam rubbed a hand across his stomach. “Downward Facing Dog’s really got my abs popping.”

“I’ll talk to her. But no more blind dates.”

“Jess and I just want you to be happy.”

“Yeah.” Dean scratched his hair, which was feeling shaggy. Time for the clippers again. “You know what’d make me happy right now? Writing up my reports before my shift’s over.”

Sam retreated behind the magazine again. “I’ll be here.”


	2. Chapter 2

After four hours of coma-like sleep Dean woke refreshed. He spent a few hours in the garage, restoring his Impala, which one of the sleazier New York tabloids had called ‘The Death Car.’ Sam worried that Dean’s restoration work was morbid, but Dean found it soothing. The Impala meant a lot more to him than just a symbol of his father’s death. It was his childhood with Sam, and he wasn’t about to let that be killed in the crash too. Not if he could help it.

He’d already cleaned the blood from the interior, and assessed the damage from where the semi had t-boned it. Now came repair or replacement until it was good as new. It was hard physical work, but took enough problem-solving to keep his mind engaged. When the alarm on his phone reminded him of the time he wiped his hands on a rag, then headed into the house to shower and dress for Sam’s party.

He looked great in a tux—that was undeniable—but the fun ended there. Sam’s engagement party was a gauntlet of questions from coworkers, friends, and close-as-blood family. At the moment it was Sam’s friend, Brady, a snotty lawyer for some pharmaceutical company, who had him cornered.

“When are we gonna have one of these parties for you?” Brady demanded. He was already smashed.

“No time soon.” Dean glanced at his watch. He could socialize for forty minutes and then he needed to go. Talking to Brady felt like it took an hour on its own.

“Still single?” Brady said it like it was the worst thing he could imagine. Like it proved Dean’s lack of value as a person.

“’Fraid so.”

His last serious relationship had been in high school, with a senior named Cassie who broke it off when he told her he wanted to be a firefighter. Now that he was on the job he didn’t have a lot of down time, and what he did have was at odd hours. Dating wasn’t impossible, but it wasn’t easy. And he’d had a lot on his mind lately, what with suddenly becoming the oldest Winchester. But no way was he slicing his feelings open for Brady.

“Listen, I know a girl. Perfect for you.” Brady’s head swiveled, moving his glazed eyes around the room. “She’s probably here somewhere. Name’s Bella.”

“Good talk.” Dean cut him off and moved on, but the party didn’t improve. Everyone he talked to offered to set him up with their friend, coworker, or Reiki instructor. His dad hadn’t been buried six months yet, but people seem to think Dean wasn’t moving on fast enough. The well-intentioned meddling was driving him crazy, but he suffer with a smile on his face for Sam’s sake.

He wended through the crowd to the bar and ordered a Coke.

“Hey Dean!” A redhead wobbled toward him on spindly heels and spilled her beer down the front of his tux.

Speaking of suffering.

“Hey Anna.” Dean cringed. They’d had drunken sex in her car once, after a work thing. It had been a bad idea. One minute she was all over him and the next she was screaming about how she wished she could go back in time and kill his parents to prevent him from being born.

Anna ran a hand down his suit, looking confused.

“Your suit’s all wet.”

“Yep.” Dean took the beer with his free hand, setting it out of harm’s way.

“I’ve missed you,” she admitted, her voice breathy. “Did you miss me?”

He regretted taking her beer, because suddenly her hands were everywhere.

“I’ve been busy,” Dean said, holding his coke higher and squirming back from her caress.

“Too busy to call?” She pouted at him.

“Too busy for a relationship right now.” He spotted Gabriel, a guy he’d met at some union thing of Sam’s. Perfect. “Lemme introduce you to someone.” He steered her across the room.

“Dean-O!” Gabriel raised his glass in greeting then transferred his smile to Anna. “And Dean-O’s pretty friend!”

“Gabe, Anna. Anna, Gabe.” Dean dropped her onto a chair beside Gabriel. “You both like sex and candy. Should be enough to get you started.” Dean patted Gabriel’s shoulder encouragingly, then fled.

Dean leaned against a wall and watched people dance. He didn’t get why everyone’s expectations were so high. He wasn’t even thirty yet but friends and colleagues were bugging him to ‘meet a nice girl and settle down.’ And they all ended with ‘We just want to see you happy.’

Dean let out a groan. Why should he be happy? All he had now was Sam and work. Sam would be starting his own family soon, and even work was turning against him with Adler as Acting Division Chief. Dean wished he could call his dad for advice, but that was never going to happen again. God, he missed him.

He glanced at his watch again. Almost time to go.

He shook hands with Bobby, kissed Ellen on the cheek, and helped himself to a ham sandwich for the road. He approached his brother and gave him a one-armed hug, smiling as someone snapped a picture.

“Congrats Sam.” He took a bite of sandwich and chewed happily.

“Thanks.” His brother’s head swiveled. “Did you meet Lisa? She’s here, somewhere.”

“Not tonight, Sam. I got that Arson shift.”

Sam looked pissed. “Seriously?”

“Yeah. It’s not the Arson guy’s fault Adler’s a dick.”

“Okay. But text us to pick you up after. You’ll be exhausted.”

“Yeah. Maybe.” By which Dean meant ‘no.’ He hurried to the silver Prius he’d be leasing until the Impala was road-ready, and headed for Midtown. It was well after rush hour, so he figured traffic should be pretty smooth.

He was wrong.

Four minutes out, a cab racing the red struck a cab anticipating the green. The sound of smashing glass, car horns, and screeching metal swung him into action. Dean pulled over and grabbed his medi-kit. He’d taken the Certified First Responder’s course through work and knew that having someone at the scene could make all the difference.

Dean assessed the injuries—protesting driver with whiplash, three passengers with bruising, and one driver with a broken arm, likely cracked ribs and a suspected concussion. Dean started treating him. Once he was stabilized Dean glanced at his watch, horrified to see how late he was. He wished Adler had given him the contact info for the Arson guy so he cold call to explain. When the paramedics and police arrived Dean gave his contact card and headed to work, where he should have been already.

“Great first impression, Winchester,” Dean muttered, pushing through the doors of the building that housed Fire Marshal Novak’s office. He thumbed the elevator call button repeatedly, looking at the floor indicator. Damn! The car was on its way up. He hurried to the stairwell.

He’d run up thousands of stairs in his life, and it was never a picnic. But by the time he reached the sixth floor his muscles burned and his lungs ached. He gripped the doorjamb and forced himself to stand straight despite the pain. He’d avoided leaving the house since his father died, but he was definitely going back to the gym this week. His cardio was crap.

“Captain Winchester, I assume?” The speaker had a voice like smoke and eyes like an angry ocean.

“That’s me.” Dean heard the blood in his head—a constant ‘shhhhh.’

“Was Adler unclear that you should be here by 18:00?”

“No Sir.” Dean’s mouth twitched. He knew how it would look, showing up nearly—he glanced at a clock on the wall— _shit_!—nearly an hour late, and grinning about it. But his muscles fought, trying to smile at how freakin’ gorgeous the arson guy was. The warm glow in his chest was offset by the sinking feeling in his gut. Dean had only had this response to a guy once before, and it hadn’t ended well.

He took a deep calming breath and realized that his punishment assignment had just gotten a lot worse.

* * *

 

Castiel had intended to withhold judgment on Captain Winchester. He didn’t trust Acting Division Chief Adler’s opinions and preferred to have his own. But when 18:00 came and went with no sign of Captain Winchester, his annoyance made up his mind for him. When Winchester showed—if he showed—Castiel was going to lay the law down.

At 18:50 a man in a rumpled tuxedo lurched through the door, stalling his momentum with a hand on the doorjamb. He stood there, leaning forward at the waist, gasping and reeking of beer. Slowly, he pulled himself upright. He was extremely handsome, but his face was marred by exhaustion. For some reason he was wearing a tuxedo, wrinkled and hopelessly stained with beer and dirt and—was that blood?

“Captain Winchester, I assume?” Castiel supposed he was lucky the man was only fifty minutes late.

“That’s me.”

Castiel waited, but Winchester didn’t speak.

“Was it unclear that you should be here by 18:00?”

“No Sir.” The man was trying not to laugh. Winchester’s stare, at first distracted and glassy, gained focus. Maybe he was sobering up.

Castiel sent him to the locker room to wash and change into a pair of lab scrubs. Whatever filth was on his suit might contaminate their samples. Winchester emerged looking clean and sporting soft grey scrubs. Castiel spared a glance for the way the pants clung to Dean’s ass. He could see why Adler thought Dean seduced people; he certainly had the equipment for it.

But it took more than a hot body and a handsome face to attract Castiel. He wanted brains, heart, and the kind of dedication that led to kids, grandkids, and fiftieth wedding anniversaries. His kind of man didn’t show up drunk and late for work. Adler could consider him immune to the Winchester charm.

They got to work processing, analyzing, and labeling the evidence collected at the site of a warehouse fire on West 14th Street. Winchester was surprisingly efficient, and the questions he asked suggested he might have some brains after all.

Castiel read the chromatography report, turning it slightly as Dean moved closer so he could see it too.

“That’s an accelerant,” Dean said, stating the obvious.

Castiel nodded. “Homemade. It’s one I’ve seen before.”

“Which case?”

Castiel’s smile disappeared. “This is the chemical signature of the accelerant used by the man with the yellow eyes.”

Dean grabbed the printout. “So the guy who lit this warehouse fire killed my mom?”

“Maybe not. The chemical signature is the same, but that doesn’t mean it’s the same perpetrator. It could be a confederate, someone who bought the recipe, a relative, or someone who won an auction on his storage unit and found a few gallons of it inside.”

“Fair enough.” Dean walked to a table where Castiel kept a coffeemaker and grabbed the carafe. “Let’s find out. I’ll make coffee.”

Cas nodded. It wouldn’t hurt to let Dean finish out his shift. And then Adler would have to send someone else. The department brass couldn’t let Winchester investigate his mother’s murder. Of course they’d apparently allowed his father to do so. Castiel would submit the request anyhow. With any luck, Captain Winchester would be showing up late for work at his own station by Monday.

**Author's Note:**

> [Dean’s statements are based on opinions expressed by Robert Tutterow (06-01-2012), in First Apparatus Magazine, volume 17, issue 6. http://www.fireapparatusmagazine.com/articles/print/volume-17/issue-6/departments/keeping-it-safe/our-most-dangerous-activity-and-firefighter-visibility.html


End file.
